In Years Gone By
by Nightjar
Summary: Blaise Zabini thinks about the two people who mean the most to him, and how they got to where they are now. [HarryBlaise Slash] [One-Shot] [Response to the Hells' Phoenix Christmas Challenge]


Dedicated to everyone who responded to the challenge. Thank you, and I enjoyed reading your stories tremendously.

Miss Moony would like to say that she doesn't own Harry Potter and that she had no help with this story from Miss Wormtail, Miss Padfoot or Miss Prongs.

Warning: Slash - don't like, don't read.

The stalking thing is a reference to how he knows what lessons Harry will be in when they've got separate lessons.

This is a Christmas fic. Happy Christmas everyone!

------- I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good -------

**In Years Gone By**

_September, 1991:_

'Potter, Harry.'

I looked up when McGonagall called out the name of the Wizarding World's "saviour", and saw, to my surprise, an incredibly small boy stumbling towards the Sorting Hat.

The first thing I noticed – as I said – was his height. Other than that, though, he was very skinny, with unruly black hair and glasses, as well as the infamous scar; I couldn't see his eyes from where I was standing.

I don't know why I was surprised. It was just that I'd expected The-Boy-Who-Lived to be slightly more… "macho".

Though, after a glance towards the Slytherin table – which I'd very likely soon be joining – where Draco was sitting, I thought with disbelief, '_This_ was the boy who'd subjected me to a whole train-ride of listening to Draco's whining?'

_October, 1992:_

I was abruptly pushed to the side by the Weasley twins as they cleared the way for Potter and his friends saying, 'Make way for the heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through.'

I then observed Potter's heavy blush as he walked past me. I also noted Draco's incredibly sour – and not very elegant – look and the fearful glares of the crowd, excepting the Gryffindors – and Slytherins, who really had no reason to be scared – and I couldn't help thinking: 'Harry Potter, the heir of Slytherin: _Yeah right._'

Shortly afterwards, though, I remembered the way that Potter's eyes had been staring determinedly at the ground, and how he'd looked like he was trying desperately to ignore the hostile gazes of his once-admirers, and, somehow, I couldn't help but feel a slight twinge pity.

_September, 1993:_

As I hopped off the horse-less carriage, I heard Draco's unmistakable drawl, and I turned to see what was going on, noticing that Draco seemed absolutely delighted about something or other. 'You _fainted, _Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually _fainted?_'

I rolled my eyes remembering how Draco had fled in terror when the Dementors had come down _our _end of the train.

I briefly saw Longbottom shuffling miserably towards the Entrance Hall and I wondered what kind of friend of Potter's would tell Draco that Potter had fainted.

However, as I stared at Longbottom's back, a fierce anger came over me, and I felt the need to hurt him… and Draco, too.

_December, 1994:_

I looked up from my seat, hearing voices, and saw that Weasley and Granger were arguing… again, though the only part I caught was an accusation of Weasley's that Granger was "_fraternising with the enemy"_ before I zoned them out, and instead settled for watching Potter, who was a much better source of entertainment.

As I watched Potter try to break up the conflict in the small hazard-area that was his best friends, though, I noted, rather irritably, that Potter's date did not return to him when her dance with that Beauxbatons boy was over.

_June, 1995:_

I noticed, towards the end of the school year, that Potter seemed to be becoming increasingly distant to anyone and everyone around him.

After a few days of wondering about Potter's increasingly depressed attitude, I decided to do something to quench my thirst for knowledge. I leant over to Draco at breakfast one morning and said, 'What's up with Potter?'

Annoyingly, Draco gained a smug look as he began to explain in an incredibly superior tone. 'Didn't you hear, Blaise?' he said proudly, 'That mutt he calls Godfather was killed when he and his friends disappeared last week.'

This was quite enough to make me angry, however, it seemed that Draco wasn't quite finished yet, as he added, sounding almost as pompous as Percy Weasley, 'My Aunt Bellatrix killed him.'

And, at that, I almost lost my Slytherin façade of indifference.

_October, 1996:_

'Sorry,' Potter said, as he bent down to help me gather up my fallen books. I had – quite literally – bumped into him on the way to Divination, while he had been heading in the opposite direction, towards Defense Against the Dark Arts… not that I was stalking him or anything.

I took the books from him and quickly stood, not wanting anyone to walk down the corridor and discover me associating with a Gryffindor – much less _Potter_.

I was, however, slightly stumped when he asked me if I was okay, looking genuinely concerned. 'Why do you care,' I sneered at him. 'Aren't you supposed to hate me, anyway? – "Kill all the evil Slytherins" or whatever it is you and your bloody _entourage_ are always saying.'

He looked slightly taken aback, but when he recovered, the question he asked was probably the one that I'd least expected: 'What reason have you ever given for me to hate you, Zabini?'

And, for once, I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

_March, 1997:_

'What are you going to do, Potter?' I asked him.

He looked up at me and shrugged non-committantly. 'I dunno,' he said, 'I used to want to be an Auror, but now…'

He trailed off uncertainly. 'I think I want to be an Unspeakable,' I said, and he nodded absently. I don't think he was even listening.

'I might be a Healer,' he said finally.

At my questioning look, he explained, 'To clean up all the mess that's been made because of me and Voldemort.'

I flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, but couldn't help thinking that it would probably be the only honourable thing for him to do with his life.

'What about the other stuff?' I asked. 'Marriage, kids, and all that lot.'

His body stiffened and he answered very carefully and very seriously. 'There's only one person I could see myself spending the rest of my life with, and they wouldn't be able to have kids.'

'Is she barren, then?' I asked, my heart sinking.

Harry watched as his owl – Hedwig – flew away with her cargo, before answering, 'I don't know. _Are_ you?'

And as he looked at me hopefully, blushing and biting his lip, I couldn't help smirking, my surprise not showing through. 'Definitely not barren, Potter,' I said, 'but more than happy to adopt.'

And, when his infectious grin spread over his face and his eyes lit up, I think I was truly happy for the first time.

_February, 1998:_

'Has she decided what she's going to call him yet?' I asked as Harry apparated into our shared flat in Hogsmeade, still dressed in his trainee-Healer uniform.

Harry nodded, and a slow smile crept over his face for the first time since he had found out that Hermione was pregnant with her deceased fiancé's baby. 'She's going to call him Sirius,' he said. 'Sirius Ronald Granger-Weasley.'

I smiled slightly at the happiness that Harry could gain from his best friends' son being named after his godfather. 'She still want us to be his godfathers?' I asked.

Harry nodded, and I briefly wondered why she'd included _me_, a Slytherin she barely knew, in the equation.

_November, 1999:_

She'd died… and Harry was distraught. She'd given birth to a healthy baby boy, then she'd died three days later, leaving Harry and me to raise little Sirius Ronald with help from the few remaining members of the Weasley clan.

I supposed I'd be more upset, too, if I'd been through what Harry had. Harry had thought that he wouldn't be losing any more of his friends for a _long_ time, now that the war was over, but that's just the way things work, isn't it?

I looked at the tiny child, and remembered what I'd said to Harry that night in the Owlery two years ago, and suddenly, raising the only child of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger didn't seem so bad.

_October, 2000:_

Sirius looked up at me contemptuously, a look in his blue eyes that clearly said, 'I am _not_ eating _that_.'

Unfortunately for Harry and me, though he had inherited his mother's hair colour, Sirius seemed to be in every other respect exactly like his father.

'Fine, you win,' I said, glaring daggers at the one-year-old, and, to my surprise, he giggled.

'Bay,' he babbled, and I froze, probably looking like a deer in the headlights – which is a Muggle phrase I learnt from Harry.

'What did you say?' I demanded.

'Bay,' Sirius repeated.

And, when Harry returned home from work that evening, and found me sitting on the sofa in a daze, with a sleeping Sirius in my arms, the first thing I said was, 'He said my name… Sirius' first word was "Blaise".'

_November, 2001:_

Harry held onto Sirius as we apparated to the party together.

Upon our arrival at The Burrow, we were greeted enthusiastically by what was left of the Weasley clan, meaning Molly Weasley, Ginny Longbottom, her husband Neville Longbottom, the widowed Charlie Weasley, a now twin-less and crippled Fred Weasley and Bill and Fleur Weasley's orphaned daughter, Samantha Weasley.

Molly, Ginny and Sam immediately began cooing over Sirius, and Fred hurried Harry out of Molly's earshot, no doubt to talk about Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

And so, I found myself left to make polite conversation with Charlie and Neville, neither of whom had ever like me much, or approved of my relationship with Harry – or, at least, that's what I thought.

'Thanks,' was the first word that Charlie spoke to me that evening, and I found myself asking what for.

'For looking after Sirius… and Harry.'

I nodded and told him that he didn't need to thank me, but what I didn't mention was that, more often than not, it was _Harry_ who looked after _me._

_May, 2002:_

Harry and I stood amongst the other mourners, having left Sirius with a babysitter, and I think I saw tears in Harry's eyes as he stared at the coffin containing the ancient body of Albus Dumbledore, and then it was his turn to make a speech.

Harry stepped up to the podium and began, as I looked at him in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. 'Albus Dumbledore was more than just the greatest Headmaster that Hogwarts ever had. He was more than just the Chief Warlock or the Supreme Mugwump. He was more than just an incredibly wise and powerful wizard; he was the Leader of the Light, but, even more than that, he was a man… a great man.

'Albus Dumbledore has been a prominent figure in most of our lives, and was well known to those of us who didn't receive the honour of knowing him personally. I first met him when I was in school, where he guided me through my studies, as well as helping me to come to grips with my own destiny. He will be greatly missed by all.'

And as we left at the end of the funeral, I took Harry in my arms and let him cry, wondering why Fate had to take away every father-figure Harry had.

_July, 2003:_

'You need to get a job,' Harry said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.

'But if I got a job,' I protested, 'who would look after Sirius?'

Harry frowned. 'You were there when Molly said that she'd be happy to look after him if you ever got 'round to getting one. That failing, we could always leave him with Fred and Sam at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.'

I frowned. 'Do you really think that Fred's capable of looking after _two_ children? He has enough trouble with just _one_, and he only puts up with Sam because she charms all the visitors into wasting all their money on pointless tricks.'

Harry scowled at me and tapped his foot impatiently. 'Fred manages to raise Sam just fine,' he snapped. 'He'd do fine looking after Sirius, too. Besides, you could always help him with the shop.'

I sighed in defeat – which just goes to show how stubborn Harry is, because I don't usually give in to anyone – and agreed to go to Diagon Alley the next day.

_December, 2004:_

Harry, the Weasleys and I were scattered around mine and Harry's living-room. There were several Christmas presents scattered around the tree, and a five-year-old Sirius was sitting amongst them wearing a Father Christmas hat that Harry had insisted on putting in his stocking and looking between me and Harry pleadingly.

I could tell that he was desperate to begin opening his presents, but he didn't have long to wait, because Sam began to pick up the presents and hand them out.

I received a scribbled drawing of a castle from Sirius, a book on Muggle flying from Harry and a set of pranking materials from Fred – who was my boss, now, as well as one of Harry's "brothers". I also received a collective gift from the rest of the Weasley family of a new set of Divining tools.

When I'd finished opening my own presents and thanking everyone, I watched Sirius, who was only halfway through his pile. He was opening one of his presents from Harry, and I was surprised to see a rather thick book, as Sirius had yet to learn to read.

However, I was corrected when Sirius opened it in curiosity, and I saw that it was a photo album.

'Mama? Papa?' Sirius asked, looking between the album and Harry, and, when Harry nodded, Sirius flung himself clumsily into Harry's lap, holding him in a tight hug and saying, 'Thank you,' over and over.

And I couldn't resist snapping a quick photo of the scene.

------- I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good -------

Here follows a list of authors who responded to Miss Moony's Christmas Challenge:

ZzSheilahzZ

girlknight

Katherine0619


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